


Lady of the Storm

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-15 21:36:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12329346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: In the early part of the war, Lord Borros proved reluctant to face the dragons personally. But toward the end of the Dance, he and his stormlanders seized King’s Landing during the Moon of the Three Kings, restoring the city to order and winning promises that his eldest daughter would become the new queen of the widowed King Aegon II. (The World of Ice and Fire)The story of Borros Baratheon's eldest daughter, the queen consort who never was, the ruling Lady of Storm's End.





	1. Chapter 1

Her name was chosen by Lord Boremund her grandsire. Arlanna, in honor of Arlan Durrandon, Third of His Name, the Storm King who brought the riverlands under the dominion of the stormlands.

Her sisters came in quick succession. Four daughters in five years, her parents were blessed with. Or cursed with, in her father's estimation, for no son came before those daughters, or between them, or even after. Arlanna was the eldest, then came the twins Shireen and Shiera, and finally Alyssa the youngest, named after their Velaryon great-grandmother.

Borros Baratheon was entirely convinced that another wife would be able to give him the son he had always dreamed of. (The son who would love him, and even more importantly, would admire him, not fear him the way he feared his own lord father. The son he could point to while crowing, “I have been a better father to this boy than my father ever was to me.”) He wished to set his wife aside so he could wed another – a younger and more fertile bride, as he was fond of remarking. Fertility, in his eyes and in the eyes of too many men, rested solely on the ability of _women_ to produce _sons,_ and if there was no son to be had in a marriage, then the barren wife was certainly the one who deserved the blame for it.

Alas, the four black-haired daughters standing in a row were more than ample proof that his marriage to fair-haired Mylenda Caron had been consummated, and that she was not by any means _barren_. An annulment was out of his reach, so he schemed to force his lady wife to join the silent sisters, thereby dissolving their bond of marriage and leaving him free to wed again. But his lord father would not allow this, going as far as threatening to force _Borros_ to join the Night's Watch, should he persist on this particular course of action.

“The Carons would not stand for this dishonor. You know how prickly their pride is. Your goodfather especially. It could mean war,” Lord Boremund warned.

“And what of it? The might of Storm's End will defeat them, will defeat _any_ stormlord who _dares_ to cross us,” Borros blustered.

“You fool! The size of our army is not the problem. What you win in battle, you will lose in the trust of your people. And once a lord has lost the trust of his people, then he will -”

“A lord? But _I_ am not the Lord of Storm's End. _You_ are, Father, as you never seem to tire of reminding me.”

“And as the Lord of Storm's End, I forbid this. I forbid it absolutely!”

Mylenda Caron had no intention of being forced to join the silent sisters. She also had no intention of silently watching her daughter losing her birthright through whatever scheme her husband might concoct next. Who knew how many bastards he had fathered? He had never acknowledged any, it was true, but she knew full well that he had never kept to one bed, even after his marriage. What if he decided to legitimize one of his bastards and make the boy or the young man his heir, once he was finally the Lord of Storm's End and was free to do as he pleased, without his father's firm hand guiding him, or, as he himself would put it, constraining him?

Her goodfather was her best ally, Mylenda judged; the man who had once been his niece's greatest champion at the Great Council where the successor to the late King Jaehaerys was chosen.

“You defended your niece's birthright, defended her claim to the throne while so many others spoke up for another. Will you not do the same for your granddaughter, for her claim to Storm's End?” she implored him.

“My niece has no brother. Should you give Borros a son, then that boy will have a better claim to Storm's End than Arlanna, than _all_ his sisters,” he reminded her. “That is the law, and I will not go against our laws and customs. To do so would be akin to courting chaos and war. You cannot ask that of me, not even for a beloved granddaughter.”

“I am not asking you to do any such thing. If Arlanna is displaced as her father's heir by the birth of her trueborn brother, then that is as it must be. But if she is displaced by a bastard ...”

“A bastard?”

“My lord, you _know_ your own son. You know him better than anyone alive. You know what he could be capable of, once … once ...”

“Once I am dead and gone?”

On his deathbed, Lord Boremund made his son swore a solemn oath that if no trueborn son was born to him, then his eldest daughter Arlanna would be his successor, and should Arlanna perish before her father, the eldest of her surviving sisters would take her place. Borros was made to promise that he would not try to steal his daughter's birthright by legitimizing a bastard and naming him the heir to Storm's End in her stead. The oath was taken under the watchful eyes of all the stormlords, including Borros' own goodfather, Arlanna's other grandsire Lord Caron.

Borros had sworn that oath with fury and under protest, but he was still wary of breaking it. Even from the grave, his father still had a hold on him, at least for now.

 _This_ was the occasion in which Maester Cerwen first made a great impression on Lord Borros. Cerwen was the new maester demanded by the new Lord Storm's End from the Citadel. Lord Borros had cited the age and infirmity of the old maester as the reason to retire him from service, a mere canard to get rid of the maester. The old maester was not in the first blush of youth, to be sure, but he was not at all infirm, and could have served in Storm's End for many years still. His _real_ sin in Lord Borros' eyes was being too much of Lord Boremund's man, as well as being an unwelcome reminder to the new Lord of Storm's End of his late father's firm, constraining hand.

“The oath you swore on your father's deathbed does not preclude you from naming your trueborn son born of another wife as your heir,” Maester Cerwen pointed out.

“I have no trueborn son! And I could not get rid of the wife I have now. That is the crux of the matter.”

“There is no reason why you should not have a son with another wife, my lord.”

“Oh? Do you know of a septon I could bribe to grant me an annulment?”

“Sadly that path is not open to _you_ , my lord. If you are married to a lowborn woman, then perhaps that could be possible, or if you are married to the daughter of a very minor lordling. But your lady wife comes from too prominent a family. No septon would ever dare, not for any amount of gold. ”

That was true enough. House Caron was even older than House Baratheon, with a lineage going as far back as the Age of Heroes. And along with the other great Marcher houses, House Caron had long served as a bulwark protecting the stormlands from their enemies from the south, for too many generations to count.

“But perhaps,” Maester Cerwen continued, “Lady Baratheon could still be convinced to join the worthy ranks of the silent sisters, if, say, the well-being of her daughters is at stake?”

“Are you a fool, maester? My father threatened to send me to the Wall, should I try to force Mylenda to join the silent sisters by any means.”

“Your father is dead, my lord. He could hardly send you to the Wall from beyond the grave, could he? And there are ways, my lord, ways to make it appear to others that Lady Baratheon's decision to join the silent sisters is entirely voluntary on her part, and force has nothing to do with it at all.”

The new Lord of Storm's End laughed, slapping the maester's back like he was an old friend or a cherished drinking companion.

The new Lady of Storm's End, meanwhile, had correctly predicted that her husband would be trying the silent sisters gambit once more. She urgently reached out to her father the moment her spies in the castle reported the conversation, and even before Lord Borros and his new maester had finalized their plan, Lord Caron arrived in Storm's End accompanied by the Lords Swann, Dondarrion and Selmy, whose houses counted among the greatest of the Marcher houses, alongside House Caron. The purpose of their visit was ostensibly to pay their respect to the new overlord of the stormlands, but that very night, Lord Caron made clear his true intention to his goodson.

“We have always been loyal to House Baratheon, like we were loyal to House Durrandon before that. But loyalty must not be taken for granted. If you dishonor my daughter in this manner …”

The warning need not be fully put into words to be understood. Lord Borros flew into a rage. All these old men still haranguing him, still thinking they could constrain him, he complained to his youthful maester. “My father is finally dead, but here is my goodfather still thinking I am a callow boy he could push there and yonder.”

(The young Borros Baratheon had been sent to Nightsong to squire for Lord Caron before the betrothal with his daughter, and the experience had not endeared them to one another. “How a man such as Boremund Baratheon could produce such a fool for a son is a riddle only the gods could solve,” Lord Caron had been heard to remark, on a few indiscreet occasions, before the said fool became his goodson. A fool he might be, but a fool set to inherit Storm's End was still a great prize, and Lord Caron was much more circumspect about the things he said in public about Borros Baratheon after that.)

Lord Borros' other counselors – his castellan, his master-at-arms, his steward and his captain of the guards – immediately joined forces to counsel patience to Lord Borros. He flew into a rage at them too, haranguing them for being weak and cowardly, calling them spineless appeasers. But in truth, his goodfather's warning had shaken him. For all his blusters and his assertions to the contrary, Lord Borros was none too eager to march off to war.

And so Mylenda Caron remained Lady Baratheon, the Lady of Storm's End, and Arlanna Baratheon remained her father's heir, the future ruling Lady of Storm's End, despite Borros Baratheon's displeasure.


	2. Chapter 2

The nightingales looked like they were attacking the lone stag. Arlanna suppressed her giggle, turning her almost-smile into a frown, mindful of her duty as the eldest sister. “Father would not be pleased to see this,” she warned Shiera. Their father flew into a rage at anything he perceived as a slight or an insult, and he certainly would see _this_ as a grave insult.

“Hah!” Shiera exclaimed. “When has Father ever been interested in our needlework and embroidery?” Her fingers moved deftly and surely, giving the stag a crown that actually _looked_ like a crown. In less adept hands, the crowned stag could have looked like a cat with horns.

“I'm not certain how I feel about a representation of the Baratheons being attacked by the Carons,” Arlanna said.

“The stag is not meant to represent House Baratheon in its entirety. It's Father. Only Father,” Shiera replied, carefully examining her work for flaws. There _was_ none, of course. She was the best at this, among her sisters.

“And the nightingales are …?”

“Us, of course. The daughters he scorns and despises,” Shiera replied.

“He does not despise us,” her twin Shireen countered. “He is indifferent to us, and that is something else altogether.” The pattern on Shireen's needlework consisted of a riot of colors, the design something Arlanna could not figure out, even after looking at it from various angles. Was that a castle? Or a woman holding up her arms? It did not truly matter, because what caught the eyes and inflamed the imagination was the vivid impression left by the reign of chaos that somehow still managed to imply some kind of order, one that perhaps could only be found in the mind of its creator.

“He is no longer so indifferent to us, now that we are at an age to be married,” Arlanna pointed out. She examined her own work with critical eyes. A crown of flowers. How _dull_ it was, how staid, how _proper_. _She_ never colored outside the lines. Too mindful of her duty, perhaps; too mindful of what was and was not befitting the future ruling Lady of Storm's End. Or – and this was the fear that sometimes kept her awake at night – simply _born_ dull and staid and so very ordinary, not worthy of the fate awaiting her.

“We are at an age to be his prized mares, to be traded and bartered for his sole benefit,” Shiera said. “Suddenly he cares about what gowns we are wearing, and whose hair is too unruly to befit the daughter of the Lord of Storm's End. He acts as if Mother has been negligent in her duties on that regard, when she has always been most conscientious.”

“I'm too young to be married,” Alyssa piped up.

“You're old enough to be betrothed,” Arlanna said, touching her youngest sister's hand gently. Like Arlanna, Alyssa had also embroidered a crown of flowers, but hers had the addition of thorns. In fact, the thorns were featured more prominently than the flower petals, enough for the whole thing to be properly called a crown of thorns instead of a crown of flowers.

“Well, I'm just going to be betrothed _forever_ and _ever_ , and never get married at all,” Alyssa declared.

“Hah! You can't be betrothed forever,” Shiera said.

“Yes, I can. I'll wait him out, until my betrothed dies of old age,” Alyssa countered.

“What if he's a young man, your betrothed?” Shiera asked.

“Then I'll wait until we _both_ die of old age,” Alyssa replied.

“Well, _I_ would be glad to marry, if only to get away from here,” asserted Shiera.

“Do you mislike us so very much, Shiera, that you are impatient to escape our company?” Arlanna teased.

But Shiera took the question seriously. “It is not because I wish to escape my sisters' company. It is only because I wish to get away from _him_. To be mistress of my own castle, and never have to listen to him whining and complaining about what a _disappointment_ his daughters are, and how _cruel_ the gods have been to him by denying him a son.”

“Father would have found a son disappointing too,” Shireen spoke, for the first time in a long while.

“A son could be his rival, in the way _we_ are not,” Arlanna said.

Shireen nodded.

“And Father _hates_ rivals,” Arlanna added.

The knocks came in threes, silencing the sisters. _Tap, tap, tap_. “My lady. My lady Arlanna,” the voice called out. It was Maester Cerwen at the door. _Tap, tap, tap,_ he knocked again, louder this time.

“You may enter,” Arlanna finally said, after hiding Shiera's embroidery under a cushion. Shiera merely looked on with an amused expression on her face. “Ohhhh, the spy is here,” she whispered. Alyssa giggled, covering her mouth with her hands.

Arlanna frowned, rearranging her hair and smoothing her creased dress before standing up.

“What can I do for you, Maester?” she asked, when Maester Cerwen finally entered.

“Your lord father has need of my service later in the day, my lady. I was hoping that your lesson could be brought forward to the present time.”

Her special lesson, the one meant for the heir to Storm's End, the one she did not take with her sisters.

**______________________**

Maester Cerwen seemed like a different man altogether during these lessons with Arlanna than the man who regularly counseled her father. He even seemed like a different man altogether than the tutor who taught the four Baratheon sisters to read, write and count when they were younger. But Arlanna was not completely ignorant of the game Maester Cerwen was playing. After all, he was younger than Lord Borros, and would likely outlive him for many years. He could not have missed the fate of his predecessor, sent packing back to the Citadel after the death of Lord Boremund because Lord Borros thought _that_ maester was too much of his late father's creature. Alienating the heir to Storm's End would not be in Maester Cerwen's interest; though, in the presence of Lord Borros, he could not be seen to be favoring the heir either, or he would risk the wrath of the _current_ Lord of Storm's End while trying to curry favor with its next ruler.

And so in private, Maester Cerwen tried to portray himself as Arlanna's greatest ally, while in public, he spoke not a word of support for Arlanna whenever Lord Borros raged against his maiden heir. “My lady, I only have your best interest at heart,” he was fond of saying to Arlanna, but only when her father was not within hearing distance, of course.

The lesson on this particular day revolved around Argilac Durrandon and _his_ maiden heir Argella.

“If I am not mistaken, Maester, we have already discussed the blunders and missteps made by King Argilac, and what lessons future rulers of the stormlands could draw from them,” Arlanna quietly reminded Maester Cerwen.

“We did not consider one particular conjecture in the previous lessons, my lady. What if King Argilac had been blessed with a son? How would that have changed the outcome of the war for House Durrandon?”

“And what would be the correct answer, Maester? The answer my father is looking for. That a son would have meant victory for King Argilac and House Durrandon? That House Durrandon fell because the last Storm King had the misfortune to have only a daughter? Because sons are impervious to dragonflame, presumably, the way daughters are not? And what of the _other_ kings who were _also_ defeated by Aegon the Conqueror? I do not remember learning that _all_ of them suffered from lack of sons.”

Maester Cerwen looked sheepish. “Forgive me, my lady. But your lord father insisted that we consider this particular conjecture in our lesson.”

“I had no notion that my father thought so deeply about King Argilac and his war strategies.”

“A drinking companion mentioned King Argilac, and the similarities with your father's own situation,” Maester Cerwen said.

Ah. Now _that_ would explain her father's sudden interest in history, Arlanna thought.

**______________________**

At supper, her father complained that Arlanna had kept the maester occupied for _far_ too long. “I had need of him, and it was almost sunset before he came to my solar.”

An exaggeration, certainly, but then her father was prone to exaggerating any injury done to him, real or imagined.

“I did not keep him from attending to you, Father. I stayed until the end of the two hours that was the usual length of our lesson. He could have left at any time. I would not have stopped him. How could I? He is the teacher and I am the pupil.”

Her explanation did not mollify her father. “He is not _your_ maester, he is mine. Or are you so impatient to displace me?”

“Not at all, Father.”

“A maester serves a castle, not just its lord,” Lady Mylenda reminded her husband. Arlanna knew what her mother was doing. She was trying to redirect her husband wrath towards herself and away from their daughter.

Lord Borros glared at his lady wife, but when he next spoke, his scolding remark was still addressed to Arlanna. “I needed Maester Cerwen to write a reply to your uncle's letter.”

It was his wife who replied to this remark. “A letter came from my brother? You did not tell me of this, my lord.”

Borros snorted. “Whatever for? I'm certain he already wrote to you long before he ever deigned to write to me. That brother of yours had the _temerity_ to propose a betrothal between his eldest son and Arlanna. As if I would _ever_ agree to it. You, my lady, may agree with your brother, but _I_ am still -”

“My brother has never brought up the matter with me,” Mylenda interrupted. “When my lord father was still alive, he once made the same proposal, but I pointed out to my father that Arlanna cannot marry a man who will become a lord and rule over his own lands. Such a man may harbor presumptions that he could also be ruling Storm's End through Arlanna, in addition to his own lands. Our daughter _must_ marry a younger son. Only such a man would make an appropriate consort – a _safe_ consort – for the ruling Lady of Storm's End.”

Borros was disconcerted to find that his wife was actually in agreement with him in this matter, although their reasons for not being in favor of this particular betrothal could not be more different. He stared at her for a long while, with suspicion blazing in his eyes. Finally, he remarked, “The Carons are not good enough for my daughters, _any_ of my daughters. I have greater things in mind for them.”

 _Greater things whose glory is certain to reflect on you, Father_ , thought Arlanna. She did not fool herself into believing that her father wanted those greater things for her sake, and her sisters' sake.


End file.
